Many faces, One soul
by Nanaille
Summary: Bakumatsu. Kenshin has to go undercover for a critical mission. Will he be able to conceal his identity among enemies ?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note : Thanks to Scarred Sword Heart for the beta!_

_Disclaimer : I don't own Rurouni Kenshin._

* * *

**Many faces, One soul ** _Chapter I_

* * *

Dark grey clouds, outlined by golden and orange dusk lights, drifted lazily across the sky. The shoji was wide open, letting the warm and rich air enter in the quiet room. The faint, yet heavy smell of rain promised a soon downpour.

Gaze lost, Kenshin was kneeling in seiza, quietly sipping a cup of green tea. His slender frame was clad in the dark blue Choshu uniform, and his daisho was neatly lying next to him. He listened intently to Katsura Kogoro setting out the details of his next mission.

"I need my best man on this mission, Himura. We can't afford to lose such promising alliance. Yagami-san promised to join us by the end of the month, and through him, we will be able to buy more western military supplies. We just need to secure his family, currently held hostage"

"I understand that well" Kenshin agreed. "However, I'm not quite sure of the necessity of the deception. I can remain easily in the shadows"

"No, Yagami-san is officially still a shogunate dignitary, so the loyalty of his men will be questionable when his defection will be is found out." Katsura waved his hand, brows furrowed. "We cannot get rid of all doubt, but the odds are far more in our favor if you agree to remain near him until he's safe."

"So I have to infiltrate his guard, unknown by all but him," Kenshin mused, looking expectantly at Katsura.

"Yes, no one must be able to link you and Yagami-san to the Ishin Shishi." Katsura smiled. "Unfortunately, your red hair and your scar are standing out."

Indeed, with his amber eyes, his fiery strands of hair outlining his delicate face, left cheek adorned by the well-known cross-shaped scar; one look in plain day was sufficient to tell who he was.

Kenshin tried to not let show the irritation building in him. All his life – even if rather short – he has been bothered because of his looks: in his childhood because of the unusual color of his hair, and more recently by the infamous scar. He avoided mirrors, or his reflection in calms pools of water. The simple sight of his left cheek was enough to overwhelm him with profound sorrow and self-loathing.

The man he was today has been born on this fateful day, among snow, blood and tears. His hand lightly touched the azure scarf draped over his shoulders, and he buried his nose in it, eyes half-closed. Under the smell of smoke and the coppery one of blood, lingered a faint, very faint scent of white plum. He took a deep breath, allowing it to soothe him.

"What can I do about that?" Kenshin almost glared at his interlocutor.

Light smile still tugging his lips, Katsura filled his cup with a small amount of saké.

"Well, I believe you'll have to conceal your most distinctive features." The older man took a sip, before continuing: "I'm sure you understand that since you've became a… celebrity, an undercover mission will be hardly succeed if you go in with your most distinctive features visible".

"I will not shave my hair off; if that's what you are trying to tell me." Kenshin's glower matched his icy tone.

"Of course not!" Katsura let a heartfelt laugh escape. "Don't worry Kenshin, I don't think it will be necessary. I arranged a meeting for you tomorrow morning with a disguise expert. I'm sure he'll think of something convenient. Until then, the evening and the night are yours."

Knowing that he was dismissed, Kenshin bowed, then gathered his daisho and rose gracefully to his feet in one fluid motion before making his way to the door.

* * *

Despite the heavy summer rain, the street was packed by people of Kyoto; late grocery shopping, end of a work day, simple evening walk… life murmured at these instants. Kenshin could lose himself, totally relying on his senses: the sight of a colorful kimono and a pleasant face, the scent of cooked fish, the joyful laughter of a child. Even for a short time, he could pretend that he was part of a simpler existence.

One without pained cries, guilt, grief and crimson blood. _So much blood_.

Kenshin scowled. It was useless thinking about this.

_I'm still Katsura-san's blade, steel has no feeling, no regret. But when it will be over…_ The young man sighed.

Between the intensifying darkness, the curtain of the downpour and the hat over his head, Kenshin felt protected against prying eyes. Nonetheless, he kept his inner senses tuned for any danger that might arise. The flow of auras was difficult to process in the crowd, but from time to time, a strong warrior ki would stand out. Each time this occurred, Kenshin made a point to avoid the path of these men.

He made his way to the ramen eatery. He was thirsty and hungry, and didn't want to return to headquarters yet. His comrades in arms were too afraid of him; he could not feel at ease in such conditions.

Kenshin swept up the curtains at the entrance and looked around. The room was packed with people, and the air was noisy with shouts for more sake and more food. Removing his hat, the young swordsman wound his way through the tight passage between tables and bodies to find an empty seat. He sat near a corner, most of the patrons behind him, their auras peaceful and harmless. He let his weary body relaxed slightly against the wall. The previous night had been hard, and he had not been able to sleep until then. A young woman took his order, and soon a bowl of beef ramen and a teapot was placed in front of him.

"Thank you" he murmured, but the waitress had already bustled off.

He took a sip of the hot soup, heat trickling down to his stomach. For a moment, he felt contented, but that did not last long when three noisy and slightly drunken men seated themselves at his table. They did not pay attention to him, engrossed as they were in their conversation.

Few moments later, it turned into a heated argument.

"I tell you they will burn Kyoto down with these fires! It's careless, and only poor citizens like us will suffer on the end!" Wild gestures punctuated the speech of the white haired old man.

"You spineless coward, it's feeble people like you that made the gaijin step all over us," came the angered reply of the bearded man.

"It's the blood of Japanese people that flows in torrents over the ground! Nothing good can come of that!"

The noodles in Kenshin's mouth turned to ashes. Suddenly feeling ill, he put down the chopsticks, and put his head between his shaking hands.

_He's right, the price is too high, it will never end. It's impossible to build something on blood._

Lost in his dejected thoughts, the Ishin Shishi sensed that something was very off when a complete silence fell over the room. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, his blood ran cold when he spotted the too recognizable cyan and white of the Shinsengumi uniform.

_Damn._

Four men, their auras radiating power and confidence, sat down near the exit. After few minutes, conversations scattered across the room resumed quietly. Kenshin assessed the situation. He would have to get out of there quickly, without being noticed. Unfortunately, he would have to walk practically under the nose of his enemies. It didn't matter, provided he could reach the exit quickly enough to run outside. Very few could match his speed in the streets of Kyoto.

"Have you heard of the big fight between the Shinsengumi and the Ishin Shishi last night?" the old man asked his friends in a hushed tone, while Kenshin picked up his hat.

"Yeah, I heard that it was a massacre. Hitokiri Battousai was here, and he killed nearly dozen of those poor guys." Kenshin stilled.

"Tsk, Hitokiri Battousai doesn't exist; it's a tale made up to frighten wimps like your! If he were real, he would never be able to hide himself, with his red hair and scarred face! The Shinsengumi would have spotted him long ago!" countered the white-haired man.

Kenshin winced and fought against the urge to strangle him. His demeanor attracted the notice of the guy seated in front of him whose gaze fell on the dark red locks shielding Kenshin's face, failing to hide his left cheek.

_Uh-oh._ He stood brusquely, and the man jerked back, eyes widening in terror and mouth hanging open.

"Kami! That's him!" he shouted, pointing in Kenshin's direction.

"Fools!" snarled Kenshin, grasping his katana with his left hand as he turned around.

The commotion has gotten the attention of many patrons, amongst whom were unfortunately the members of Shinsengumi. The surprise on their faces was soon replaced by determination and wariness. They didn't take much time to unsheathe their katana.

"Battousai!"

"You're a threat to the security of Kyoto! Surrender!"

Cries of terror and confusion erupted across the room, and soon Kenshin stood alone, nobody between him and the Shinsengumi.

"Leave, or else… die." His soft tenor was devoid of emotion and matched his cold face. Only the blazing amber eyes showed his banked fury. He didn't have time for such foolishness.

"There is no honor in taking flight; somebody will meet his death tonight!"

In battle mode, Kenshin felt distantly sorry for them and for the landlord, who would have to clean up the mess. He crouched slightly in the formal battoujutsu stance, right foot forward, right hand hovering over the hilt of his sheathed katana, and waited.

It was part of his new code: never attack first. In his eyes, here lingered the difference between the hitokiri, the mindless killer, and the protective role he had assumed since Otsu.

It helped to keep him sane, barely.

He could feel the hesitancy in his enemies' ki. He was rooted, absolutely still, and he could tell that was greatly bothering his opponents. Finally, with a flare in their auras and angry shouts, they decided to charge at him.

_Two steps… one step…_

With blinding swiftness, his blade whistled through the air as it swung in a deadly arc from the side. It connected with flesh and bones, a cry dissolving in a gurgle. Reaching forward, Kenshin closed the range and stabbed a second enemy with a graceful, yet fatal, leap. Whirling, he went limp and dodged a flashing blade before unsheathing his wakizashi with his left hand, disemboweling one man while beheading the other in a swift motion. Only a few seconds had passed following the first attack.

Shocked silence followed the display of his mastery. Calmly, he flicked the blood off his blades while collecting himself.

_I guess Katsura-san is right after all, I'm far too noticeable._

Careful to avoid the bodies sprawled at his feet, he left few silver coins on the nearest table.

"Sorry for the disturbance," he said flatly, before fading out into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note :Many thanks to t42n24t2, Raiukage, Knightmayr, Scarred Sword Heart and Beyond Doubt for your kind reviews ! You made me write faster ;). The chapter 2 is dedicated to you._

_Chapter 2 kindly and efficiently betaed by Scarred Sword Heart._

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**Many faces, One soul**. _Chapter 2_

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Like always, he dreamed about snow. In his dreams, snow was never white, nor was it cold. No, it was always tainted by steaming crimson. Only one was feeling associated with snow and that was not a peaceful one. Instead, utter distress obliterated everything.

Kenshin abruptly opened his eyes. Back against the wall and katana resting against his shoulder, he let few seconds pass to get rid of the cobwebs lingering in his weary mind. Rising slowly, he made a few practiced motions to relax his limbs and made his way to the outer shoji which he slid open.

The song of a lonely nightingale was muffled by the morning mist. The air was cool in these early hours, and the sky, still dark to the west, was lightening in purple and old rose hues. He felt wistful; it had been a long time since he had been able to witness the dawn. His nightly activities made it impossible most of the time. Somehow, gazing up at the sky soothed him. He remembered that he had done that often with his shishou, when his training necessitated spoken lessons about life, death, power and responsibilities.

_So much about dealing with guilt_, Kenshin grimaced.

Shaking himself out of his musings, he combed his hair before pulling his locks in a neat high ponytail, and walked out of his room. He could definitely use a breakfast.

The inn was still quiet; very few people were already up at this hour, but he could hear noises from the kitchen. He poked his head through the doorway. Okami-san was busy berating the young Akane-chan about how to chop the vegetables properly. Torajiro-kun, the stable boy, was standing sleepily near the hearth, feeding the fire.

"Excuse me…" Kenshin said tentatively.

Okami-san turned to face him, startled, and smiled with fondness.

"Himura-san! You're up early today! What can I do for you?"

The young man strongly suspected that the innkeeper had a soft spot for him. She was not a meek woman, and had never been afraid of him, even back the days when he was a hitokiri. She was courageous, and fought the war with her means. Welcoming the rebels into her inn was risky, and she put her life at stake everyday.

"May I have something to eat?" he asked softly.

"Sure, hold on. Akane-chan, put some rice in a bowl." She wound her way to the scullery, muttering to herself quietly, and came back few seconds later with a bucket full of appetizing cherries. "I gathered these yesterday." Smiling, the innkeeper shoved the meal tray and a teapot in Kenshin's hand. "Here, and leave nothing; you're just skin and bones!"

"Err…, thank you Okami-san" Kenshin bowed, slightly to keep his balance.

"No problem! You know, I think you'll have to stick by my kitchen only from now on. No eatery on the town will accept you as a customer," she said cheerfully.

"You heard about last night," he answered faintly.

"Who hasn't?" She waved him off. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

Kenshin walked back to his room, lost in thoughts, feeling vaguely ashamed.

* * *

Having no news about his morning appointment, Kenshin grew bored. He could not go outside, and he didn't visualize himself socialize with his fellow Ishin Shishi. No one wanted to play dice with him anyway.

Nervous and in a bad mood, he felt like a trapped wild cat in a wicker box.

_I have to do something._ Making his decision suddenly, he made his way to the backyard. The few people who encountered him cleared out of his path hurriedly. Usually, he would not practice where someone could spot him, but he needed exercise to relax himself.

The small garden was well-maintained and a fiery red maple tree cast cool shade over the lawn, the sandy lane and the small fish pool. Taking position where there were fewer obstacles around him, Kenshin readied himself.

Crouching slightly, the young man unsheathed his katana and stilled it vertically, grip reversed, the end of the blade near his left foot. He stayed like that for a long moment, breathing deeply, eyes closed. Then, imperceptibly, the sword moved, fluidly, up, then to the side. The perfection of a move did not reside in its speed or its force; it was rather question of general balance. And Kenshin knew well that opponents were part of the symmetry. In it remained the purpose of a kata.

He extended his arms, reaching forward, still in sheer slow grace; then, by a flick of the wrist, he made the blade sing through the air in a wide arc. Parries, strikes and counter-attacks melted in a deadly blur as Kenshin steadily increased the rhythm of the sequence. Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu was a demanding style, involving the whole body and the whole mind. Only absolute dedication to the purpose of swordsmanship could let express the full range of its power. There was no place for wasted movements. Each one was meant to kill.

Kenshin reached the stage of the kata where more and more acrobatic moves were needed. He leaped; twisting in the air and aiming his sword downward, and then back flipping while resheathing the katana to launch a battoujutsu at the instant he landed on billowing dirt.

The kata continued in this eerie dance, with surprising silence apart the few whistles when steel sliced too swiftly through the air. His motions were hard to follow, and he was so quick that he seemed to vanish at times, reappearing few feet farther to complete a strike.

It was beautiful, yet frightening.

A few of the rebels were watching and Kenshin could sense the awed fear in their ki. The heightened state he was currently in made him conscious of the merest shift, the lightest breath around him.

_Something's wrong_.

The thought wound its way through his mind, disturbing his focus slightly. He threw a glance in the direction of the covered path. There, near Katsura, a man stood nonchalantly, inconspicuous, average built, plain face, but _no ki_. Kenshin stopped dead in his tracks, his hakama flapping around his legs. He had encountered very few people able to conceal their aura completely; one was an exceptional warrior – when he was not drunk –, and the others were ninjas.

Wary, the young man glared at him. Katsura took the opportunity to come closer, the man on his trail.

"Ah Himura! I'm glad you finished, I wouldn't dare interrupt you in the middle of this fantastic display," smiled the Choshu leader.

Kenshin remained silent, detailing the shady man. Middle aged, his appearance was completely average. He had a pleasant round face, but very forgettable. Only his eyes, vivid and sharp, revealed that he was not ordinary. A smirk tugged his lips at Kenshin's scrutiny. The young man scowled.

"May I introduce to you Mutou Toshinori-san," continued Katsura. "He is the one I told you about yesterday."

"I can see that you deserve your reputation, Himura-san," said Mutou with a rich, lilting voice. He tilted his head to one side, and started to speak again in a mocking tone: "Or at least, concerning the sword mastery. For the shadow assassin part, however…"

Kenshin glowered harder, and maybe pouted a bit.

Katsura scoffed. "Maa, maa, we're not here to talk about thorny issues, are we?" Kenshin threw him a flat stare. "Or maybe we are." He looked dubious. "Anyway, Mutou-san, I leave Himura-san in you capable hands. He has to be ready in three days."

And then the chief of the Ishin Shishi walked off, his head high and a determined edge in his gait, leaving a seemingly overly joyous disguise master with a very tense youth.

* * *

"Stay still, baka!" Mutou poked him. They were kneeling in Kenshin's room. The young rebel had his head down in a large bucket full of water. The older man was rubbing his skull to get rid of the last bit of the dye. Kenshin was gritting his teeth. He hated to be under the care of this obnoxious man. Not only Mutou was _touching_ him, but he wouldn't stay quiet. He kept asking him useless questions which Kenshin didn't bother to answer most of the time. Mutou seemed to be content to chat alone anyway.

"There, I think it's enough, you can raise your head." He tossed Kenshin a cloth. "Dry your hair and face." While Kenshin grudgingly fulfilled his task, Mutou laid several pots and bottles, and two brushes of different sizes in front of him.

Suddenly grave, he sat, leg crossed, facing squarely the ex-hitokiri.

"The core of illusion resides in what is hidden and in what is not. To hide something, you'll have to show something else. Nothing arises from nothingness; everything has a cost. The path forward is a wire extended between your birth and your death; to make it standing and head-high, you'll have to keep your equilibrium."

Surprised, Kenshin raised his gaze to meet Mutou's eyes, but he was busy opening a small container. Mixing an ochre powder with a light pink balm, the older man resumed his talk. "The true art of concealment consists of drawing the attention of others to meaningless details." With a feathery touch, nimble strokes brushed over Kenshin's features. "Playing with light and shadows is efficient, but not as efficient as playing with minds."

Concentrating on Kenshin's left cheek, gaze focused, Mutou let his lips stretch in a faint smile. Kenshin could not decipher if it was a hint of sadness he could perceive in it.

"Here, this will do I think," the disguise master leaned backward, taking a critical look. He lent Kenshin a small round mirror. The youth stared disbelievingly at his reflection. The disheveled dark hair made him somewhat younger and frailer. His cross-shaped scar was morphed into a faint red line, much smaller, much less noticeable, but still _there_.

He felt oddly relieved. It was part of Tomoe's legacy after all.

"You left a scar," Kenshin remarked.

"Of course baka!" replied Mutou in a tone which reminded him strongly his shishou. "That's the point of what I said to you not two minutes ago! It's the tree hiding the forest; no need to take a closer look, because there is already something to look at." The older man put back the make-up and the mirror in a small mahogany box.

"I will teach you how to apply the make-up yourself. Remember, it does not do well under the water. Your hair will be black for a while, but the dye will fade eventually."

Combing his hair, Kenshin nodded distractedly, still processing the whole thing about the tree and the forest.

Mutou smirked. "Remember what I said to you about playing with minds? Well, you will learn to _act_, boy."

* * *

_A/N: Who knows, maybe the pink gi of our Meiji Kenshin is part of this tree and forest thingy ? ^^_

_Mutou is a reference to the _Tales of the Otori _by Lian Hearn, a very good fantasy novel heavily inspired by feudal Japan._

_Please, let me know what you think about this chapter :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note : Many thanks to my reviewers !_

_Chapter 3 kindly and efficiently betaed by Scarred Sword Heart._

* * *

**Many faces, One soul**. _Chapter 3_

* * *

Kenshin didn't know what to think about Mutou Toshinori. The man was a walking contradiction; chatting endlessly about meaningless things, and then suddenly discussing about rather deep subjects in a fascinating way. His callous hands and the controlled grace of his gestures betrayed the fine fighter he was. The control he had displayed in his aura before indicated that he was probably a ninja. Kenshin had on a few occasions confronted these particulars fighters, and he had grown wary of their cunning methods.

"What do you mean?" Kenshin frowned.

"You know you'll have to infiltrate Yagami-san's circle. It's the kind of mission which can take a long time," answered Mutou. "You'll have to interact with others, while remaining as inconspicuous as you can." He took a look over the young man critically. "And by inconspicuous, I mean not throwing icy glares around and giving everybody the creeps."

Kenshin glowered.

"See? You're too predictable," sighed the older man, shaking his head.

Then, slowly, Mutou put his hand under his gi and pulled a sheet of paper. He unrolled it on the floor, and, with a small pencil, wrote few characters on the center. "Acting requires preparation. You need to believe in what you say to others in order to be believed. The lie is powerful when it has been built upon the truth."

Mutou leaned backward and gestured to invite Kenshin to take a look.

"Tree village?"

"That's right, Kimura-kun. That's your name from now on."

Kenshin gaped a second, then shrugged helplessly.

He felt a bit overwhelmed by all this stuff. He wasn't used to the idea of purposely deceiving people. Yet, he knew well that he wasn't the cold-blooded and ruthless warrior that everyone thought him to be. The mask of the Battousai helped him to deal with the deeds done in the name of duty. Under it remained the core of his true self, of the idealistic young boy who had stumbled one rainy day upon the Kiheitai. He thought he had lost him once, in the dark streets of Kyoto and under the flow of blood. Then, white plum, bloodied snow and the cross-shaped scar had engraved and steeled his resolve to not let himself drown in madness.

"I guess that sounds fine," Kenshin said dubiously.

"Now, tell me boy, what kind of person is this Kimura Kenshin-kun?"Mutou asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"He is inconspicuous."

"Sure! What else?"

"He doesn't draw any attention."

"Okay I get that already." There was a chided edge in Mutou's tone. "Be creative."

Kenshin rubbed thoughtfully his chin, a bit lost.

"He's young, so everyone will think he is inexperienced?"

Mutou grinned. "Will he be really?"

"I think, but he is moderately gifted with a blade. Won't raise any eyebrow when he will be introduced as the new bodyguard."

"Good, and about his scar?"

Kenshin paused, troubled.

"I don't know, can it fit with the inexperienced part?"

"Well, with a bit of imagination…" Mutou tilted his head to the side, and teased: "Maybe a story involving a beautiful woman and a jealous rival? You're pretty enough to gather the notice of the fair sex, after all."

Kenshin suddenly felt cold.

_Truth shaping the lie…_

He stood up without answering, and walked across the room to pick up Tomoe's shawl neatly folded on the floor.

He draped the fabric reverently around his frail shoulders. The familiar gesture comforted him. Closing his eyes, he could imagine her protecting and forgiving arms around him. He took few breaths before turning back and resuming his place in front of the other man.

Mutou was eyeing him sharply, seemingly interested.

"Silence can be an answer; it will lead people to assume things and fills in the gaps themselves. You'll have to determine which part of your story you wish to keep in shadows. Yet, you have to be able to answer every question credibly if the need arises, boy. Be prepared."

On the sheet, around the kanjis of Kimura, he scribbled other characters. He pointed on the word _Past_.

"The past is only the landscape." Then, he gestured on the next word. "A persona is based upon other things, like nature, a particular and consistent way with which you'll interact with other."

His rich voice adopted this distinctive hint of deepness when he said something obscure, yet significant.

"An entirely different demeanor is more efficient than new features. Before long, people think of you as how you behave, not about how you look. The deceiving part is how you'll be able to lead them to look at your inner and fabricated new face."

Kenshin nodded. This resonated strongly with his earlier thoughts about his Battousai's identity.

"And that new face is constructed upon values and motivations. About how what you believe is right, and about what future you fight for."

Kenshin stared. It was startling how this whole thing kept throwing him off balance. He was not used to such introspection. Usually, he avoided thinking too long about his situation, in a defensive way. His original reasons to fight were idealistic and naïve ones, and they were not strong enough to keep him sane from the mass murders he found himself committing night after night. His mind had been shaken terribly under the pressure, and he would have been broken eventually. A year and a half, though, his reason was simpler, less selfless.

The vows he had made to Katsura-san and to Tomoe that he would lend his blade until the end of the war and stay alive. Tomoe's death must not be in vain.

"… not have to keep to the act for months. It's useless to work on Kimura's personality heavily." Kenshin jerked out of his dark musings when Mutou poked him hard on the head, eyes narrowed. "Are you listening, baka?"

"Sorry, Mutou-san." He bowed stiffly, his hand rubbing his skull.

"You better pay attention! You're obviously not aware of the honor of being the private student of the great Mutou Toshinori! Many would kill to be in your place!" His voice was loud, and his ki radiated arrogance and self-importance.

And then unexpectedly, his aura was suppressed again, leaving a hole in Kenshin's mental landscape.

"Tell me, boy, this morning, back in the garden, why did you stop your kata this suddenly?" Mutou's entire demeanor has changed in a heartbeat. He was back to his collected self.

Puzzled, Kenshin took few seconds before answering cautiously: "You were breathing, but I couldn't feel your ki and it had bothered me."

"Precisely, and that was my intention." Mutou grinned before continuing, "You're a fine warrior, the best of the best, and your ki sense is very sharp and controlled. To be able to conceal your aura all the time like you do is an exploit in itself."

Kenshin blinked and bowed slightly, awkwardly accepting the compliment.

"Many warriors can perceive ki. It's highly suspicious when you're not revealing anything. I don't know if you're aware of that, but with concentration and training, you can manipulate your aura to let it express only what you want to communicate."

The young swordsman remained silent, musing about the implication of what he had just learned. In a battle, not allowing your opponent to know your intentions was vital. But if in addition the ability to lure and deceive your enemy by using your ki as a feint…

_I wonder if shishou knows about this?_

"The trick is to let a faint layer of emotions cover yourself to add weight to your act, just like make-up." Then Mutou's face twisted, eyes suddenly teary, lips trembling and ki radiating utter despair. Kenshin just couldn't suppress the pity that sprouted unexpectedly in him. It was quite baffling.

"Oh, I see. It's… impressive," said Kenshin, genuinely.

"I'll teach you that, it's not very difficult, but it needs a disciplined mind and a strong will. Now close your eyes and show me what you're capable of."

A few hours later, Kenshin was nursing a harsh migraine throbbing behind his eyes. He rubbed the nape of his neck tiredly. His mind was filled with the new elements of Kimura's persona, which were developed during the afternoon; and the concentration needed to maintain a veil of harmlessness around him was taking a heavy toll.

Mutou yawned, rather soundly, and got back on his feet with a fluid motion. "It's dinner time, boy. I think we both deserve a good meal to restore ourselves… especially me!"

Kenshin didn't even bother to glare at him. He merely nodded, and stood with graceful slowness. He took few steps across the room while stretching his back.

"Now is a good time to test your ability, boy. I'll know tonight if you are worthy of the time I spent on you. We'll see how long you can keep yourself unknown during the meal. If you can also engage a discussion with a comrade, make him look at your face and remain unrecognized, I will praise your name in front of Katsura-san," he said gleefully, bouncing on his feet.

Kenshin pinched the bridge of his nose before answering, "You are tiresome, old man."

Then, he waved his hand with a casual gesture which could pass for an assent, and headed toward the outer shoji. He slid it wide open, breathing deeply the cool dusk air, before jumping smoothly over the guardrail.

Kenshin landed silently in the empty side street. The night was slowly claiming reign over the city, and plunging everything into profound shadows. He felt at ease here, where no one could see him. Darkness and he were well acquainted. He could easily engulf himself in its friendly embrace. In the dark, there was no color, only shades of black and grey.

No unforgiving red.

Straightening the folds of his hakama, he passed his right hand through the soft dark strands of his ponytail, before delicately removing Tomoe's scarf. He secured the piece of silk inside his gi.

Soon, he would have to hide in plain sight, behind a fabricated demeanor and a false persona. He could not say he was made for bluntness, but he was not comfortable with this whole mind tricks game. He was not happy with the idea of adding 'manipulative bastard' to his 'cold-blooded murderer' tag.

Otherwise, Mutou's lecture was fascinating. It seemed that to be a fine manipulator, you had to know a lot about human mind in general and about yourself in particular. The other was like a fun house mirror, with definitely strong similarities, but also very insoluble discrepancies. Kenshin could learn a lot about it, since he had gained the necessary maturity to admit the importance of self-questioning.

Lost in his thoughts, Kenshin slowly made his way toward the main entrance of Okami's inn. Cheerful sounds of laughter and loud conversations were erupting intermittently from behind the shoji. Kenshin quickly glanced into the common room, assessing the situation. It was not packed yet, and the ruckus was made by a group of men betting and playing. Kenshin has crossed his path few times with most of them.

The young man carefully stepped into the inn. Focusing, he filled his aura with unease and awkwardness.

No one paid attention to him.

It was quite unnerving, for someone used to sudden heavy silence at each of his appearances.

He paused, and let his face mold into a lost expression. He could feel that acting was in fact much easier when he concentrated on tuning his ki with body language.

He cautiously made his way into the room, changing directions several times like he didn't know where to sit.

Bench in the way.

_Mutou __had better__ be right, otherwise I think I'll have to get revenge for a ruined reputation._

He tripped, and in a loud crash, pushed violently a table aside before landing on the floor in a very ungraceful manner.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N : Thanks a lot to my kind reviewers, followers and readers. Sorry for the delay, I struggled a bit with this chapter, and I ended redoing it entirely._

_Kindly beated by Scarred Sword Heart and Beyond Doubt._

* * *

**Many faces, One soul**

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Takahari Masuro was a practical man. He was not the kind to live for ideals, and did not believe in a greater cause than himself. His father was a peasant, like his grandfather, and many ancestors before him. But he could easily understand that these times were fated to change his life and the lives of his children. So, one day, after the cholera had decimated half of his village, he had told his mother that he would not be there for dinner, and to not expect him for the days after. He went straight to the Kiheitai, where he learnt to wield a sword, and ended up in Kyoto few weeks later, with the Ishin Shishi.

Many of his comrades had followed the same path. The possibility to choose their fate had lead many farmers to disregard their previous existence, which consisted of endless starvation and burdensome taxes. The new one could lead to a violent and bloody end, but it was better than waiting passively the death.

Takahari was currently playing dice with Minami and Fujisaki. The bets were not high, but the thrill of the game was there anyway. It was a nice way to pass the time, between two assignments. Takahari had known his companions for a few months already, and they were getting along just fine.

Minami was the quiet one, speaking only when spoken to, while Fujisaki was the sarcastic one. There was nothing he enjoyed more than making fun of others.

So, when someone fell with a loud clatter right in the middle of the common room, he burst and dissolved into mocking laughter while pointing the at youth lying flat on the floor. It didn't help that Fujisaki had had too much saké.

The young man sat up slowly while awkwardly rubbing his head and said, with a blush, "Aah… Sorry. Don't mind me, please."

He rose, and winced when he put his weight on his left leg. He was built like a woman, with a small frame and delicate features. A faint scar marred his left cheek. He was somehow familiar to Takahari, but he could not remember where and when he had met him.

"Are you sure you know how to use those swords, kid? Careful not to stab yourself in the foot while unsheathing," mocked Fujisaki.

"Ah…, no… it will be all right, sir. Don't worry," the boy replied with a soft voice, seeming lost and hesitant.

Takahari, taking pity of the youth, intervened: "Want to play dice with us, boy?"

The young man threw him a surprised look, before averting his gaze.

"Hu… Why not, but I don't have much money to bet. Is that okay?" he warned.

"Sure, come over. Not much is better than none," answered Takahari with a wide grin.

He introduced himself and his two friends while their new mate seated himself next to Mitani.

"I'm Kimura Kenshin. Please, go easy on me," The youth logically replied with a slight bow.

While Okami's inn sheltered the rebels, this was not common knowledge, and everyone could come in and have a meal without having ties with Choshu's men. Since the Ikedaya affair, utmost discretion was needed, though, and everyone who was not identified as Choshu was watched closely.

Inviting the young man to play over was a way to keep an eye on him.

Mitani expertly threw the dice in the cup, shaking it before putting it down with practiced movements over the table.

"Your call?"

"Four"

"Nine"

And the game went on. Kimura-kun was, unfortunately for him, not a very lucky man and he lost few rounds before regaining a meager sum. After a while, between two rolls, Fujisaki casually asked, "So, what's with the daisho, kid? You playing samurai?"

Kimura-kun shrugged, "I have to be able to defend myself. Kyoto is a dangerous city."

"Indeed. You seem very young. Are you sure you know how to use these swords?"

The young man tried to keep a straight face, and replied curtly, "I know enough."

"Everyone says that, before ending against a stronger opponent. Then, they cannot say anything, because they are dead."

Fujisaki waved his hand, a predatory smile on his face.

Takahari sighed, "Don't pick on Kimura-kun, Fujisaki. It will not help if you demoralize him." He continued in a more lively tone: "And age is not the reflection of skill. Look at some of truly skilled swordsmen, like Okita Souji-san of Shisengumi. I heard he mastered his sword style at barely eighteen."

"True, true. It's not the common thing, though. We don't cross paths with Okita every day."

"Indeed, but what about Battousai?" Takahari replied.

True enough, the former hitokiri seemed young, but he kept an icy aura of deathly efficiency around him that intimidated everyone. No one had thought, until now, to make fun of his age.

"He's a special case. And you, boy, are you a prodigy too?" Fujisaki inquired with a smirk.

"My shishou is way better than I am," stated Kimura-kun, shaking his head.

"War is truly an ugly thing, drawing children like you into battles… Have you ever killed someone, boy?" Takahari could tell that the question was asked with sincere interest, but it was a rude one and Kimura-kun remained silent, his eyes glued on the dice.

Somehow, a shiver ran across Takahari's back. The nightly air felt suddenly very cold.

"That's what I thought; it's simply for show," resumed Fujisaki in a disdainful tone. "But soon, when you'll run into your first fight, when you'll have to choose between life and death and you'll have to rely only on your skill to follow that choice, you'll truly understand what turns a man into a proper warrior."

Kimura-kun's gaze shot and he glared at Fujisaki, his lips shut in a tight line and his face frozen in a cold mask.

Something tugged at the outskirts of Takahari's conscience, like a vague feeling of uneasiness. He budged, before asking: "You seem familiar somehow, boy. Do you work here?"

Kimura-kun's gaze shifted slowly on him. For a second, the young man seemed hard-bitten, with eyes far too old for his smooth visage and almost… dangerous. Then, the feeling was gone, and Kimura-kun looked again like the harmless teenager he surely was.

"It has been few weeks already."

"Oh, is that so? Guess you're not very noticeable," interjected Fujisaki.

"Your calls, you two?" interrupted Mitani, voice laced with annoyance, trying – rather unsuccessfully– to restart the game, which had been put on hold.

"Fujisaki-san, I understand that I don't look like a very capable warrior, but rest assured that I will not endanger the lives of my comrades. Tripping over something has surely happened to you once in your life, and I don't call you a weakling for that matter."

Takahari winced. While Fujisaki loved to pick on people, he didn't take very well to those who fought back. And the fact that he was currently under the heavy influence of liquor did not speak in favor of self-restraint.

"Ah, like you can compare with me! Mere weeks are nothing in front of the _months_ I spent fighting the Bakufu with the Ishin Shishi! Even yesterday, I was part of Katsura's escort!"

"Fujisaki, shut your damn big mouth already!" Takahari hissed, dread filling his mind. He turned his head around, trying to assess the damage. No one across the room acted like they had overheard Fujisaki's slip, though, and Takahari let himself relax a bit. Fujisaki appeared vaguely guilty, and he opened his mouth to either apologize or continue his bickering.

He didn't have the chance to express himself though, because Kimura-kun stood abruptly.

"I believe you had your share of saké tonight, Fujisaki-san. It's time to sleep it off, before you end up doing something you'll _truly_ regret."

His polar tone matched his icy glare. An air of authentic menace radiated off of him. "Fortunately for you, I don't have the time to assure myself that you will not do something foolish. Takahari-san, please take care of him. I have to fix something."

Takahari stuttered an assent; there was nothing of the earlier awkward boy in this assured young man.

Kimura-kun turned his back and headed toward the exit with catlike ease, and said over his shoulder "Thanks for the game," before disappearing outside in the night.

"What was that?" asked Takahari after a time.

Fujisaki grumbled something under his breath, and Mitani shrugged: "I guess gambling time is over."

* * *

Kenshin burst out into the street, which was mildly crowded, but he didn't immediately spot the suspicious man who had just left the inn a few seconds ago.

He had sensed a flare of ki at the mention of Katsura's name, and almost immediately, someone had gotten up to leave the inn. Something wasn't right with the timing, and Kenshin always trusted his instinct. Inns were regularly checked by the Bakufu's men. He hadn't bothered to keep up the whole Kimura act: there was no time to fool around anymore.

The Ishin Shishi could not to afford a compromised position right now; the Bakufu currently hatched a second punitive expedition against the Choshu province. Fierce negotiations with Satsuma were discussed to build up a solid alliance, and bring out in the light a war which was still very much fought in the shadows. Choshu desperately needed armed power, but didn't have much of a relationship with the strangers. Satsuma, more moderate and in favor of a status quo with the Bakufu, could provide weapons and military resources.

Katsura-san had a lot to think right of right now, and moving the headquarters would mess up tight schedules.

_An entire battle could be lost with a second of stupidity,_ thought an irritated Kenshin.

The evening had been full of lessons, in a rather interesting way. He couldn't remember the last time he had been picked on. Maybe when he was little, back in the village and usually about the unusual color of his hair.

With his small height, he could not see past the people who were in front of him, and the crowd rendered his ki sense close to useless. Without hesitation, he wound his way into a dark side alley, skillfully avoiding bodies and obstacles. There, he leaped up suddenly and caught the edge of a balcony. With a swing of his legs, he used the motion to bring his body smoothly over the guardrail, and jumped again to the rooftop.

If the man who left Okami's inn was a Bakufu agent, he probably went to the north. In utter silence, Kenshin ran over the rooftops, and hastily checked the streets. The odds he could spot the man were decreasing rapidly, but he stayed collected and methodical. He had not hunted in this city for all these months for nothing, and soon, his patience would be rewarded.

On the edge of his vision, he saw someone with a green gi disappearing down the lane on the other side of the main street. Kenshin backed off a little, and with one bound leaped across the street to the next rooftop. Landing with only a faint ruffle, he assessed the people walking under.

_Hat, green gi, travel bag. That's him!_

The man tried not to run, but was walking hurriedly. Kenshin could feel turmoil and expectancy emanating from his aura. He was not visibly armed, but that didn't mean he was defenseless. Kenshin felt a mixed wave of relief and dread wash over him. The safety of the patriots would be preserved tonight, but someone would die for that. While Kenshin wasn't a mindless killing tool wielded by another will than his anymore, the weight of the decisions he made himself had some other kind of influence over his soul.

Kenshin often ended up being both judge and executioner. No one told him who has to die by his hand.

_The privilege of maturity, I guess._

The question about how he would confront the man remained, though. Kenshin could not risk confronting him right away without solid proof. He would have to wait to be reasonably sure of the man's implication in Bakufu's intelligence affairs.

He tuned his inner sense on the man's ki, and silently followed him, cloaked in shadow. The man didn't take a straight path, and made a lot of detours in the maze of lanes and side alleys. He seemed to take great precaution to avoid being trailed.

_Definitely the behavior of someone who has something to hide_.

Kenshin's lips set in a grim line. The set was open, the worst could be prevented, but a lot could still go wrong.

Finally, the man stopped in an empty alley, in front of small door in a recess. He took a look around – but didn't think to glance upward – and knocked on the wood twice, waited few seconds before the door quickly opened to let him in. Kenshin quietly assessed the situation. The building was a plain two story house with a middle roof, not very well maintained as reflected by the reddish varnish flaking away. No light leaked through the openings.

Kenshin jumped forward and landed with ease on the front guardrail. He crouched and put his ear near the upper shoji.

Nothing, only silence.

He could not sense any aura on this floor, but three; maybe four men were on the ground floor. He cautiously slid open the panel to let himself in, before shutting it in one smooth motion. Left hand seizing the hilts of his katana, he crouched and swiftly crossed the darkened room to the stairs. It bore no sign of recent use, and Kenshin could smell the dust thickening the air. Slowly, with the patience of the hunter, he went down, laying his feet on the steps one by one.

While he made his unhurried progress, he could hear the faint whisper of a conversation getting stronger and stronger, and soon, the murmur morphed into the defined shape of understandable words.

"… a rather plain inn, near the south outskirts. Not very crowded, but there is definitely suspicious activity in it. I'm sure it's a rebel nest, maybe even the Ishin Shishi headquarters."

Kenshin slightly shook his head. His guts had been right once again. He was just behind the doorstep of the room occupied by the Bakufu's men, still engulfed by the shadows.

"Good job! The spy network paid off, after all. We need to report our results to Hijikata-san as soon as possible."

"Hiroshi, you'll wait for the others while Yobe and I go to report."

A rustle told Kenshin that they were preparing to go and he chose this moment to step into the halo of the meager candlelight.

"Unfortunately, I can't let you do that," interrupted the young swordsman.

Whistles of unsheathed katanas answered him, along with a predictable: "Who the hell are you? Why are you here?"

"This is not useful information for dead men," Kenshin replied simply. "Prepare yourselves!"

He crouched smoothly in his trademark battle stance. The three men were wary, but not very tense. They seemed to not take him very seriously.

"Just who do you think you are? Battousai?"

Laughter ensued.

"Go weep in your mother skirt, little kid. It is far past your bed time!"

"Swords are dangerous toys, you know. You could cut yourself with it if you aren't careful."

Kenshin couldn't believe what he had just heard. For the _second_ time this evening, people thought they could freely and easily pick on him.

"Just attack me, morons! Let's put an end to this!"

At least, they ceased to mock him.

"If you insist…"

They charged him in unison with determined battle cries. Kenshin let them reach his range, and with one swift motion in a crimson fountain, he ended their lives.

* * *

_A/N : The next chapter will definitely see the plot moving forward, don't worry ^^_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N : To my faithful reviewers._

_Kindly beated by Scarred Sword Heart._

* * *

**Many faces, One soul**

**Chapter 5**

* * *

The trip back to the headquarters was uneventful. Kenshin had remained for a little while near the abandoned house, hidden in the dark, to check if someone else was expected here tonight. Seeing nothing, he had left via the rooftops. Now, as Okami-san's inn was in sight, he questioned himself about how he should approach Katsura-san for his report.

The event of the previous hours had told him he was not certain to make his way without someone attempting to arrest him and ask him why a kid had business with the Choshu's leader. Not feeling in mood to have to explain himself, he chose the easier way, by sneaking in.

_It will be a good test of how the inn is currently protected._

The moon was crescent and had risen high in the starry sky. It cast a faint, sharp silvery glow, outlining roofs and walls while creating deep shadows beneath. Casting his ki-sense forward, Kenshin spotted seven guards, placed in order to leave no blind spot all around the inn. By what he could detect in their auras, they seemed to be satisfactorily aware and vigilant.

Yet, Kenshin saw a path, through the sinuous back alleyway behind the tea garden; it was small and tricky, but passable nonetheless for someone skilled.

_I guess I'll have to discuss those issues with Hitsuya-san. _

Kenshin could say he was getting along rather well with Katsura-san's second-in-command here in Kyoto. The man lacked imagination and was a bit too orthodox in his strategies, but he was hardworking, reliable, and was gifted by a very solid practical mind. He was not the kind to judge someone solely on rumors, and seemed to be a good judge of characters. His straightforwardness had been very welcomed after Iizuka's betrayal.

The young swordsman flattened himself against a wall, carefully concealed under an overhang. Roofs were a bit less watched, in spite of many sentinels staying in high places. They were watching the streets, where there was a higher probability a threat would come.

Gathering a dislodged tile, Kenshin deftly assessed its weight, before throwing it at a pile of shovels and tools settled in a corner. The crashing sound that followed shattered the velvety quiet of the nightly atmosphere, and drew the attention of the watchmen. The former redhead backed a little before dashing forward. At the edge of the roof, he jumped smoothly, briefly illuminated by the moonlight before reaching the safe cloak of shadows across the other side of the street. He landed almost soundlessly on the dirt and stilled. Sensing no sign that he had been detected, he exhaled slowly.

Nearer of his objective, and having sharpened sentinels' vigilance, Kenshin could not afford to make any mistakes. He waited, with the sheer patience taught by countless hours spent on the hunt, first in the midst of the wilderness among mountain trees and high cliffs, then in the unforgiving maze of the city of Kyoto.

Counting his calm, steady heartbeats, the young man was entirely relying on his senses. The alertness provided by action made feel himself more alive. He was not very keen to spend hours musing about his fate, his mistakes and the bloody path he had been following since he was fourteen. When he was outside, in the darkness, he knew always where to go and what to do. Each time, he slipped easily in a clinical, cold mental state which allowed for neither hesitation nor second thought.

While he was never eager to take a life, he had always liked the thrill, the feel of completeness when he put the full range of his skill to use. His agonizing soul was silenced for a time, buried under the heavy weight of duty and survival.

Being honest with himself, Kenshin knew that it was part of his current balance. He could not think without an ambiguous feeling about the time when all of this would end. While he looked forward to the end of the war, he had trouble picturing himself living in peaceful times. Everything he had always known was related to death.

The few oblivious months spent in Otsu had shown him small bits of what a normal, happy life could be, but the horrific conclusion of this particular time had swamped with overwhelming anguish what had could have been sweet memories.

It took the faint feathery rustle of a night bird taking flight to make him decide to move. Staying enveloped by shadows, he cautiously followed the high wall encircling the garden of the inn until the corner edge, where stood an ancient, twisted yew tree. One of its branches hovered slightly over the wall, and while its height was not a problem for Kenshin, the tree allowed him to jump while remaining concealed in the dark.

In the air, Kenshin put his hands over the tiled wall, and in one graceful motion, he swung his body before landing silently in a crouch on the damp grass.

_I'm in_, he thought, a bit smug, as he swiped his hands on his hakama. No one was in the garden at this hour, but few shojis were open to let in the night breeze. Kenshin stood casually, and strolled toward the main building. Near the covered path, he paused, assessing his environment to detect potential witnesses, and then leaped up.

The shoji of Katsura-san's room were closed, but the young man could see the flickering opalescence of a candle light through the washi paper. He could hear a muffled conversation between two men, yet could perceive only the strong, familiar ki of the Choshu's leader in the room. This fact could mean only one thing.

Frowning, he knocked sharply against the wooden frame, interrupting the conversation. Then, a deep, rich voice rose distinctly: "Ah! I believe we now know where the lad is, even if we can wonder why he doesn't use the door, like everyone else."

The shoji was thrown open, and Kenshin found himself in front of Mutou's delighted face. "Are you lost, kid? Or maybe you're just too shy to show yourself?" He flashed a lopsided smile that wrinkled the corner of his eyes.

Kenshin couldn't help but glare at him. This man enjoyed teasing him too much. The young man merely shrugged, not gracing the old man an answer, and slipped into the dimly lit room. Katsura-san was comfortably settled cross-legged near the low table, his head turned toward them. His dark, intelligent gaze surveyed Kenshin's figure, undoubtedly appraising the change. Finally, a small, genuine smile creased his face.

"I understand better now how he had managed such a feat, Mutou-san." Katsura tilted his head. "You seem somehow much younger than you really are, Kenshin."

"I believe it is part of the deception, Katsura-san."

Mutou, after sliding back the shoji, sat with decisiveness, billowing the large folds of his sleeves in theatrical gestures. "True, true, the kid is an acceptable learner, and with my outstanding teaching skill, I think he will be ready by the end of the next day."

"That is good news. I will arrange the meeting tomorrow night, then." Katsura's gaze met Kenshin's eyes. "You have something to report, I believe."

Kenshin nodded. He had settled himself near the corner, out of habit, where he could see the entire room as well as the two exits.

"Earlier, I was in the common room with other patriots. Out of certain circumstances, your name had been pronounced, along with a few clues that you were probably frequenting this inn. Immediately after, a man, posing as a traveler, left the building. I decided to follow him. He was a Shinsengumi spy, working for Hijikata." Kenshin paused and fisted his hand slowly over his knees. "I killed three men, but there are others, apparently patrolling Kyoto's rest places undercover."

Silence filled the room. Katsura-san moved to pour himself a cup of tea, thoughtfulness creeping upon the firm set of his mouth. Kenshin strongly suspected that drink was something which helped his leader to think. Mutou seemed to not pay attention, apparently concerned by his fingernails. But Kenshin knew better than to take appearance for granted.

"The time to reveal ourselves in plain light has yet to come. It will be soon, but not now. We need to remain careful. Yagami-san and his family have to be secured before I can leave for Satsuma with Ryoma-san to negotiate the alliance." The words were rolling smoothly and firmly off Katsura's tongue, like the good politician he was. "This last event tell us this is no time for hesitancy and excessive cautioun anymore. Kenshin, I believe when you have completed your mission successfully, we will be finally able to make the moves that will allow us to overthrow the Bakufu."

"Thank you, I feel like someone quite important now," said the young swordsman drily.

"Indeed, I believe in you and I know you will not let anything happen to Yagami-san," nodded back Katsura-san, unruffled. "It's a matter of few days. You will pose like a new addition of his personal guard. Meanwhile, a team will be sent to rescue his wife and two daughters. As soon as they are safe and secure, we will let you know, and you will bring us Yagami-san."

"Easy," interjected Mutou's flippant voice.

"Mutou-san will be our liaison; you will rely on him to get information from our side."

Kenshin frowned, and then purposely let a loud, irritated sigh escape.

"Okay, I think I can endure the old man few more days. After all, keeping myself unknown will require a certain amount of self-control."

Mutou grinned widely. "I'm very fond of you too, kid."

Kenshin felt his facial muscles twitch. _I will not glare at him, it's most likely what he's waiting for, _he told himself.

"The head of Yagami-san's guards, Mashiba Kazuo-san, is loyal to him," resumed Katsura-san, unfazed. "It's him whom you will meet tomorrow. Only he and Yagami-san know that you are an Ishin Shishi warrior. However, I have not told them who you really are. I simply let them know that you are one of our best."

Mutou snorted. Kenshin glared at him.

"You have all day tomorrow to complete your training under Mutou-san. Report to me at the end of the afternoon."

"Understood." Kenshin paused, waiting few seconds, before rising on his feet. "Is that all?"

Katsura-san nodded with a smile.

"I'm leaving then." Kenshin bowed curtly, and made his way toward the shoji.

"That's not the door, boy."

Kenshin didn't respond, gathering his sandals which he had left out of the room. "Ah, back to prowling over the roof like a kitty?"

The young swordsman hit the wood with the tip of his feet to adjust the sandals with more force than necessary. He turned and grabbed the edge of the shoji, sliding it with an angry motion. Before closing it completely, he poked his head through the opening and said: "Don't talk to me, old man."

He shut the shoji, and headed toward his room through the roof. Few steps later, he picked up Katsura-san's fading voice saying, full of wonder: "Maybe you'd better not antagonize Himura-kun like that, Mutou-san; that surely is not good for your health."

Kenshin was sure he heard faint laughter ensuing.

* * *

Golden dust was swirling in a lazy whirlpool in the sharp morning light that peeked a few rays through the dark abandoned house. Flies buzzed, drawn by the unexpected feast provided by the dawn. Three corpses were sprawled in a large pool of blood. Its coppery scent had a strong hold over the heavy atmosphere. Two men were spread eagle on their back, almost cut in half by a profound slash running right under their ribcage. The third man was curled in a deep, motionless bow, forehead against the floor, as if he were nursing a violent stomachache.

_Which was surely the case just before he died,_ Saito speculated inwardly.

Across the south wall, near the third body, was sketched a long, almost artistic arc of blood spots.

"One strike, three dead," rang the always cheerful voice of the captain of the Shisengumi's first division.

Saito nodded; he had reached at the same conclusion in a single glance.

Crouching, Okita-kun dipped two fingers in the outer rim of the blood pool, assessing its level of dryness.

"It occurred last night."

Saito rubbed his chin, thoughtful; something wasn't right.

"That doesn't resemble to the Battousai," he said, bluntly.

"Much more like the hitokiri he was two years ago," agreed Okita-kun, on his heels. "I wonder what happened that pushed him to execute those men like that. It's like he had hunted them down."

Saitou's scowl deepened. Battousai was usually involved in escorts or protecting missions. It had been years since the Shinsengumi had had evidence of one of his assassinations. The layout of this crime scene didn't fit at all with what they knew of the main asset of the Choshu Clan. Such a change in his behavior sounded odd. Almost…_reckless_.

"Maybe he's gone nuts," Okita-kun mused aloud.

Saito grunted, before replying: "I want to know what the rebels are up to."

Okita-kun was trying to collect some clues, but the half-hearted way he conducted his search told Saito that there wasn't much more to learn about the situation.

"These men were part of Hijikata-san's network," said Okita, wiping his hand with a no longer white tissue. "Something about checking the inns all over Kyoto to gather information about Choshu's hideouts, I think. Maybe one stumbled upon something interesting."

"Hm, I'll go ask Hijikata if he has a precise schedule for his agents… with areas of interest and such stuff." Saitou let his lips stretch in a smirk. "Since this elicited such a reaction from the Battousai, I think it will definitely be worth my time."

* * *

Kenshin could not decipher why it was so infuriating to interact with Mutou. He had the time to think about it last night. He was not usually easily thrown off-guard. With his ability to read ki, he could generally analyze emotions and relate them to motivation. He felt like speaking with Mutou was like walking blindfolded in an unfriendly land. He didn't trust the old man. He had paid the price of trusting a sneaky bastard once before, and was not keen to renew the experience.

Not without a small amount of self-honesty, he could understand that he had an unfair advantage over others, and when he had lost it, he had not taken it well. But whatever, Mutou could have been a nice mysterious elder with deep wisdom. Instead, he was an exasperating man, knowing too well how to anger Kenshin. And the ex-hitokiri was not foolish enough to believe that there was not a defined purpose beneath Mutou's behavior.

The way the ninja constantly pushed the young warrior over the edge reminded him uncomfortably of Hiko's tutelage.

"What are you doing? You think it's the creased butt of my old grandmother you're trying to cover?" Mutou smacked the back of Kenshin's head with his fan; causing the small pot of powder the young man was holding to spill part of its contents all over his hand. "Subtlety is not your forte, isn't it?"

Kenshin's knuckles tightened around the ebony handle of the brush. _Maybe I could shove it down his throat and say it was an unfortunate accident?_

"Don't hit me like that. It'll lead nowhere," he said, between gritted teeth.

"Don't talk back, brat." That was followed by another expected strike, which was narrowly dodged.

_Or maybe that it was a fortunate accident?_

They had been practicing Kenshin's make up for _hours_ since morning. It was much trickier than he had first thought. To conceal half his scar without a mark was a precise process, and Kenshin had to be able to do it perfectly, rapidly and in a dark room.

First, there was the application all over his face of a smooth colored lotion emitting a faint, yet pleasant, herbal odor, and whose purpose was to unify his complexion. On his cheek, he had to add a thicker paste over the red scar running from under the inner corner of his eye to the line of his jaw.

This one was Tomoe's legacy.

It felt strange to erase it like that, with mere make up, like it had never truly happened. But the stigma was not only on his skin, and would never disappear, because it had been carved in the bleeding stone of his heart.

"You let your mind wander too much, baka. Pay attention or you will suffer the consequence!" Mutou's voice was lined by a chided tone.

Kenshin frowned and grabbed the smaller brush to apply the final touch. A few soft brush strokes of a mineral powder well applied, and there remained only a faint red line on his left cheek. He tilted his head back slightly to take a better overall look in the small round mirror.

"My butcher of a grandfather could have done it way better than you, and he had only three fingers to rely on!" Mutou threw him a wet tissue. "Wipe it all and do it again."

"Why, again? It seems okay to me!" snapped back Kenshin. "This is girly crap anyway!"

"Do it!"

"And I don't care about your bloody relatives!"

Mutou's stern features morphed into a scandalized face. "They are esteemed deceased people!" He swung his fan, trying again to slap Kenshin with it. The young man leapt on his feet and kicked away the makeup small case before reaching the shoji.

"I need a break; I'll be back soon. Make yourself at home, and don't forget to drown yourself in the bucket," said Kenshin with an agreeable tone as he strode off under the afternoon sun.

"Youth these days," came the sour, muttered reply.

* * *

Kenshin wrapped the small bundle in Tomoe's shawl. It included, among few other things, a small box containing vials, pots and brushes. He had removed the dark blue Choshu's uniform to replace it by a deep charcoal gi. The garment was simple, but made with a fabric of good quality betraying low noble origins. His tattered hakama had been replaced as well, and this one was few shades darker than the previous one. Kenshin slid his daisho in his obi, and put on his wrist guards.

Hitsuya-san was waiting for him outside. He would introduce Kenshin to Mashiba-san, somewhere in Kyoto. The meeting with Katsura-san had gone well –outside expected skirmishes with Mutou–, and they had discussed a few remaining details. Katsura-san had wished him good luck, with faint tensed wrinkles over his features betraying his concern.

Kenshin would soon have to slip fully into the false persona he had been rehearsing all day, along makeup training and calling the old man many names. He thought he had a fairly strong understanding of Kimura's character, and admitted begrudgingly that it was partly thanks to Mutou.

The sun had nearly sunk behind the horizon, and its last rays set clouds aflame with fiery reds and bright orange hues.

Tomorrow would be an entirely new day.

Tomorrow he would pose as a Bakufu soldier.

* * *

_A/N: Maybe Kenshin would appear a bit OOC in this chapter to you. I would like to explain myself on why I characterize him like that._

_To me, Kenshin has a fiery temper, tightly reigned in his 28 years old persona. Only this kind of temper could have lead him leaving Hiko behind to go fight. Here, he his still a teenager, barely seventeen, and like every teenagers, he doesn't like it when he isn't taken seriously... I don't know if it makes sense to you, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway ^^_


End file.
